


Just You

by quartetship



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Side Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-06-09 08:55:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6899467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quartetship/pseuds/quartetship
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You. Just you."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just You

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in the ‘Le Raconteur’ universe, (originally a collaboration with Deb, @lemonorangelime!) after the main story line, so it might make a little more sense if you’d read the fic, but it should be enjoyable either way. 
> 
> Originally posted on tumblr last year for Marco's birthday, as well as a gift to a supportive reader and friend. Enjoy!
> 
> \--

Summer was a beautiful season in the sleepy bayou city of Maria.

The air was always thick, heavy with the dampened wind rolling off the water and the threat of rain that was almost always just around the corner. But the sun and the showers brought to life beautiful blankets of green, covering lawns and parks and hanging from the rows of stately old trees lining the downtown streets. With gardens in full bloom on every block, the breeze was a perfume too perfect to replicate, and the longer Jean lived in the city, the more deeply he came to love it.

Summer was a season of magic, in a city already alive with it. It was the twinkling of fireflies and fairy lights, strung in the trees around lake Sina, reflecting off its surface like a watercolor painting. It was the glittering of stars overhead that punctuated the breathtaking colors of the sunset, beautiful backdrops for Marco’s storytelling in the park. It was the glow of Marco’s skin in the low light of evening, lit as if by firelight, despite there being no flame in sight. With a three month break from work and little else to do, summer was the season that let Marco do what he did best, weave words of magic that captivated crowds. It was the season of Marco’s _prime._

Summer was also the season that brought a very personal holiday with it, one that Jean and Marco had starkly different opinions on.

It wasn't long into their relationship that Jean had figured out that his boyfriend wasn't much of a ‘happy birthday’ kind of person, but only after they'd been together for a while – and Jean had learned exactly who and what Marco was – that he understood why. Still, that didn't stop him from pushing for just a _little_ celebration. That was something he wagered Marco’s life could do with a little bit more of.

“So, tomorrow's the sixteenth.”

It was a casual mention, a subtle reminder that Jean had every intention of doing something celebratory the following day. He watched Marco for a response. Marco nodded, not raising his eyes from the notes he was making.

“Mhm.”

Jean narrowed his eyes, shifting in his seat on the opposite end of Marco’s couch. “June sixteenth.”

Again, Marco only nodded. “Mhm.”

“Babe, what are we _doing_ tomorrow?” Jean sighed, tired of subtlety. He'd never been very good at it, anyway. Finally, after some prodding by Jean’s feet, Marco put down the papers in his hands, adjusting his glasses in the way he always did when he was just slightly uncomfortable. Still, he smiled.

“Whatever _you'd_ like to do, I suppose.”

Jean groaned. “Marco, it's _your_ birthday, not mine.”

“I'm aware,” Marco nodded. “But you _know_ how I feel about my birthday. I'd rather just not worry about it. We can do whatever you'd like to do, tomorrow.”

“But I want to _celebrate.”_ Jean argued, moving to his feet. “Your birthday is a holiday. S’not every day that a super hot, magical storyteller is born, you know.” He grinned at his boyfriend; Marco didn't return it.

“One of the many reasons I'd like to pretend tomorrow isn't anything special.”  

Jean pouted, dropping is arms to his sides, exasperated. “But it _is_ special. It's special to _me. You're_ special to me.”

His argument seemed to soften Marco’s resolve. Taking his glasses off entirely, Marco held out arms for Jean to step into, curling them around his waist as he came to stand in front of him. Marco laid his head again Jean’s stomach and sighed.

“Sweetheart, if you really want to do something, then we can. You know I'm happy doing whatever you'd like.”

Dropping a hand onto the top of Marco’s head, Jean scratched gently at his scalp, fingers swirling through his hair. “But I wanna do something for _you.”_ They stayed that way for a few moments of silence, Jean hovering in front of Marco, doodling lazy patterns in his hair and down the side of his face, until Marco pulled him down and into his lap.

“You don't _need_ to do anything for me, sweetheart. I don't need anything. I've got everything I want.”

“But I _want_ to do something,” Jean protested, and he knew Marco well enough to know that the tiny flutter of his eyes as he closed them meant Jean had gained the upper hand. He rattled off some ideas, hoping one of them might strike a chord with Marco.

“How about a massage?”

Marco shrugged, tightening his squeeze. “Only if you're the one giving it to me.”

“Do you wanna go to dinner?” Jean offered. Again, Marco shrugged.

“If that's what you want to do.”

“Or I could cook you something. What would you wanna have?”

Marco shook his head agreeably. “Anything you'd want to make.”

Jean twisted his mouth to one side, thinking. “We could go to the beach for a couple of days. It's not a bad drive from here, and you like the water.”

“If you'd like to,” Marco replied simply, but Jean huffed.

“Marco, stop turning it around on me!” He grumbled, wiggling in Marco’s lap. “I wanna do something special for you. Now just be straight with me – what do you want?”

“You.” Marco’s answer was quick, and he had to stop himself laughing when Jean dragged hands down his face and _growled_ in frustration. He took both of Jean’s hands and kissed the backs of them, thumbs stroking over fingers as he spoke through a smile. “Really, though. That's all I want, love. Just you. Anything else is just sugar on top.”

“But you have me all the time.” Jean pressed his forehead against Marco’s, returning to pouting in protest. Marco nodded, leaning up to press a kiss to Jean’s lips before smiling against them.

“Just spend an entire day reminding me of that, and we’ll call it a perfect birthday. Sound doable?”

There was another stretch of silence, in which Jean came to terms with his defeat. “Fine,” he mumbled. “But I'm at least getting you some presents. And a cake. And I'm gonna smash it all over your face.”

“That's a wedding thing, love. Not for birthdays.” Marco laughed. “But if you're planning to lick if off for me…”

“Obviously.” Jean grinned, leaning down to nip at Marco’s lips before stealing another kiss. “But if you're gonna cry about it being for weddings, I guess I'll save it. For now.”

“I'm not cry-- Wait, _what?”_

“Nothing.” Jean shrugged, poorly concealing a smirk as he rose from Marco’s lap. “I should probably go run some errands before midnight, though. Any requests before I go?”

Marco shook his head, taking his turn to pull an impressive pout as he stood after Jean.. “No, wait. What were you--”

Jean chuckled, cutting Marco off with a wave of his hand and another quick kiss. “Sorry, babe. Gotta go. Presents to buy.” He slipped into his shoes, felt for his wallet in his pocket, and grabbed his keys off the rack by Marco’s apartment door in impressive timing. “See you later tonight with presents, birthday boy.”

And with that, he was gone.

By the time Jean had returned, the sky was full of stars, and Marco forwent prodding him to explain his earlier statements in favor of pulling Jean out onto the small patio of his apartment to make an attempt at counting them. Jean brought one of the sketch pads he kept at Marco’s place, and drew what he saw as he watched Marco smile up at the sky. The result was a smudged, black and white sketch of Marco, standing out against the shaded background of the night sky, glowing from head to toe. Jean signed and dated it as he always did, and slipping into his lap, Marco asked between slow, sweet kisses if he could keep the drawing.

“It's not that good,” Jean frowned. “I could clean it up, or redo it if you want, but--”

“I want it just like that.” Marco insisted. “It's perfect.”

Jean glanced back down at his artwork; it wasn't really as bad as he'd let himself believe, when he took a second look. Maybe it just looked better in the glow of Marco’s presence, but then again, so did _everything._ Jean gently tugged it from the book, mindful of the edges as he tore it out and handed it to his boyfriend. It was one of the only times he could remember Marco _asking_ for something – anything – and after all, it was his birthday.

“Anything you want, baby.” Jean smiled. He tilted his head back to look at the way Marco shone, softer and warmer than the light of the moon above them. He counted himself lucky, more so knowing that in being blissfully happy in the moment, he was giving Marco _exactly_ what he wanted. “Happy birthday, beautiful.”


End file.
